POEM: Cape Town

singing Cape Town into Brooklyn
through a pair of speakers made in China
music written in the Berkshires
by a madhouse veteran of the solo circuit
green tea in the last surviving mug
from the latest in a long line of relocations
the new room has an altar in it
which would surprise everyone and no one
the air smells of incense and lilacs
the bed is a nest of pillows and mattresses
if you draw the Buddha, said the monk,
be sure to always draw him smiling sweetly
that way he’ll make the children happy